Logical Conclusions
by The Winged Lion of Coruscant
Summary: The Doctor and the Master: a series of inevitable events progress from and to their logical conclusions. Living together on a TARDIS is by no means easy. Slash - Master/Doctor - specifically Simm/10.
1. Perception of Reality

Author's Note(s): So, I'm trying a multi-part story in the Who fandom for the first time. Let's see how this goes. ;D Seeing as I'm on break currently, I should be able to update regularly. Hopefully. ;D And please review? I subsist on a diet of reviews alone! ;D Thank you kindly.

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Chapter One: Perception of Reality

Fact: they were not fighting.

Fact: they were living together in the TARDIS.

Fact: they were the only two remaining members of their species.

Falsehood: they were at peace.

Inherent logical fallacy: peace cannot simply be defined an absence of fighting. Peace also implies harmony. It connotes the existence of tranquility or serenity.

Screaming at each other across the TARDIS – crying on each other's shoulders when things became too difficult even for them and then never talking about it again – trying to thwart each other whenever they visited a planet – words unspoken so loudly that they echoed with the power of shouts: that was not peace.

The current situation was simply a cessation of hostilities: an armistice. The Master and the Doctor were not, perhaps, openly at war – but neither could their circumstances be described as peace.

Fact: the Doctor only slept when exhaustion nearly forced him to collapse – and he always triple-checked the isomorphic controls before he went to his room to rest.

Fact: the Doctor, who had regenerated with a skinny frame to begin with, was now fairly skeletal.

Fact: the Doctor didn't know how much longer he could continue like this.

Every moment of every day he was acutely aware of everything that had brought them here. The planet missing in the sky, drawing them together no matter what they tried to do to escape it, hovered in his mind, twice as large as it had been in reality. He dreamed of it – skies redder than they'd ever been before with raging fire and dust, explosions scattering dust and earth and shattering whole mountains in a single planet-shaking boom, fires burning all around him …

When they passed in the TARDIS hallways – when they bickered on the planets they traveled to – when the Doctor panicked because, oh, _Rassilon_, the Master had gone missing _again_ and he was probably already trying to start an insurrection – when they ignored the other's presence, sneaking looks out of the corners of their eyes because they were in the same room and no one wanted to be the first to break – he was aware of everything. 'What happened?' he wanted to ask the other man. 'How did we get here?'

Falsehood: the Doctor ever actually spoke those words.

Fact: the Master slept as rarely as he could, haunted by the incessant pounding in his head.

Fact: the Master wasn't sure what Gallifrey being gone actually _meant_.

Fact: the Master didn't know how much longer he could continue like this.

Every second of every minute of every hour of every day, the drums echoed resoundingly through his mind. It was a wonder he could even think straight half the time (the other half he wasn't … sure about). And it didn't get better with time – he wasn't able to tune it out, turn it into just so much static, accustom himself to the background noise and forget about it. Every drumbeat – _every single drumbeat_ – sounded as new to him as if he'd never heard it before. Every second: a new shock, a new unpleasant start of revulsion, because there they were and how had he even survived the last moment, anyways? How was he going to keep sane through the next? He thought he had himself braced for the drums, and then – crash! – there it was and what he wouldn't give to even just be completely sure that he'd never get rid of them, because then he could allow himself blissful sleep and final respite from the drums … Hope was agony for him. The Doctor believed, with the inherent lack of reason and idealistic insanity that defined the Doctor, that his drums could be cured. Without that, suicide would be an option. The Doctor gave him hope, and he _hated _that.

Falsehood: the Master hated the Doctor himself.

Fact: whenever they were on a planet, the Master tried to escape.

Fact: the Master had never won, though he had managed to actually catch the Doctor himself thrice. Each time, the Doctor had spent several sleepless nights in prison cells of varying degrees of unpleasantness – though _nothing ever actually happened_.

Fact: the Doctor never won either. At this point, he wasn't even sure what "winning" would constitute.

The Doctor tried to keep an eye on the Master – he did, he really _did_ – but the Master somehow always managed to elude him. Somehow, every time, the Master got away. He never even bothered to try for proper universal domination, though: he always simply attempted a takeover of the planet they were on, with no clear end goals or even plans. They were both getting rather predictable: they would land on a planet, the Doctor would get distracted by something (occasionally an injury, but usually an interesting discovery about ancient cultures or customs of the time period), the Master would sneak away, three weeks later the Master would make his move, four weeks later they would return to the TARDIS, the original problem solved and the Master "foiled". Rinse, wash, repeat. The Doctor would end up running around like a half-mad scarecrow, his porcupine-hair more mussed than usual, and his enormous tan coat flaring out around him. The Master would end up sitting in a control room, all debonair grace and charming evil and dashing elegance, in a carefully tailored black suit and dark shoes. Day after day – month after month – planet after planet. Places and times began to lose any significance; they wandered along in the fourth and fifth dimensions, without any ability to distinguish the passage of time or changes of scenery, because everything was the _same_.

Falsehood: they would be able to continue like this indefinitely.


	2. Punctuated Equilibrium

So, short chapter. Sorry - the place where it ended felt like a logical stopping point. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter by Friday? Something like that. ;D

**Vic Taylor: **Heh. Sorry. I am rather evil. ;D They definitely _do _need hugs, poor them. Unfortunately, lurking on best_enemies has made me more prone to angst-ing them. ;D Delegado!Master/Three has become the only Master/Doctor in which I'm _ridiculously_ fond of straight-up fluff. ;D I still do like fluffy endings, though, so ... Have hope! ;D

Also - take note of Vic's actions, rest of world (i.e. the other 93-odd people who viewed without reviewing)! Please? ;D

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Chapter Two: Punctuated Equilibrium

Fact: naturally, everything must change eventually.

Fact: equilibrium, though it may be punctuated with intermediate incidents of varying degrees of excitement to those involved, is impossible to maintain forever.

Fact: armistices cannot exist indefinitely.

It was a small, green planet called Effelar. A benevolent dictatorship, secretly controlled by members of the semi-omniscient species of aliens that lived on the neighboring planet, ruled over the peaceful world. After several failed attempts to topple the government and install himself as the new world dictator, even the Master had been forced to admit it would be impossible to instigate instability on Effelar. It was much too orderly and idyllic for that. The highest evil he could possibly perform would be skipping out before paying the check for the meal he and the Doctor were currently eating.

The Master disapproved, on general principles, of the Doctor making himself sick when he didn't eat. For one thing, it seriously put a damper on his enjoyment – taking over a planet wasn't very distracting when you knew your most able adversary currently had less strength than a half-drowned puppy. For another, it meant that the Doctor stopped going to planets as often until he was healthy again – which put a serious damper on his plans for universal domination. For a third, thin – or even skinny – was one thing, and looked quite nice on this Doctor, but "stick-like" was another.

During the meal, the Doctor wondered aloud what would happen if _he_ tried to take over the planet – you know, for a change. He said it quite calmly, in his clear, idealistic, Doctor-y way. The Master had no response – except, after a few minutes of consideration, "I suppose I'd have to save it, then."

"Why?" the Doctor asked, genuinely curious.

"Because you can never win, anymore than I can."

"And therefore you'll constantly oppose me?"

"Yes."

"I give up?" the Doctor offered curiously, leaning forward.

"No."

"Why not?"

The Master shifted uncomfortably. "You can't."

"I want to." The Doctor rested his chin on his hands. "Why not?"

"I need you."

"What for?"

The Master had no answer to the question, so he leaned in and kissed the Doctor instead, which at least silenced him, if nothing else. After a moment, the Doctor kissed him back; after another moment, they broke apart.

They paid the check and left. The Master tried to avoid talking about it for several weeks.

Falsehood: it had meant nothing to either of them.


	3. Demonstrable Realities

A/N: I'm sorry! I'm sorry! *cowers in a corner* I'm a terrible person. ;D I got distracted by my shiny new Doctor Who DVDs and spent the last few days falling in love with Three ... Sorry! And then a rabid plotbunny bit me, and I ended up writing Out of the Dust (which is also Master/Doctor ... do I get some brownie points there at least? ;D) first, instead ... Sorry!

**Tak Membrane**: Thanks! ;D Yes - probably one or two more chapters, or so? Though this chapter really didn't go where I was expecting it to go, so ... ;D

**Vic Taylor**: Thanks! I lurk on best_enemies, because all the best fanfics seem to come from over there. ;D I'm a bit shy, though, and lj tends not to load right at home, so I've never actually posted. ;D And thanks for the compliment on the fact/falsehood construction - I was worried it was getting gimmick-y. ;D

**spam.**: Ten is adorable, isn't he? ;D I figure they're sort of like yin and yang: they balance each other. If the Doctor went evil, the Master wouldn't know what to do. ;D

**Kate Swynford**: Thanks! ;D I'm terrible to the two of them. They deserve all the fluff they can get! ;D

**thecurlyone**: Thank you very much! That's very kind of you to say. ;D

**Pliva**: Thanks! (And I'm watching/waiting for more of your sequel to TDiC with bated breath ... ;D)

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Chapter Three: Demonstrable Realities

Fact: the Doctor dreamed about the Master.

Fact: they did not land on any planets after their eventful lunch; instead, they spent the next few weeks alone on the TARDIS.

Fact: the Master dreamed about the Doctor.

It was painful for both of them, being on the TARDIS with nowhere to go, nothing to see, nothing to do – except for running into the man who shared the TARDIS with them every day, walking stiffly in the corridors as they passed each other, carefully, tactfully ignoring each others' presences.

The Doctor overhauled the TARDIS control room. By the time he was done with it, everything was clean and new and shiny and decidedly not much like his TARDIS had been during the war anymore. He had, of course, changed everything obvious immediately after – new layout, new color scheme, even a new bedroom. But he'd never actually gotten around to changing all the fiddly bits – the temporal-gravitational sector divisors, for instance. Everything felt new and clean and almost foreign to him when he finished.

The Master reorganized the library several times. First, he organized it by medium. Let the Doctor try to figure out why he'd placed 4-D holograms in the west side of the room and cassette tapes in the southern corner! Then, he organized it by how much he liked the various works the TARDIS library contained (unsurprisingly, the Doctor's rather (embarrassingly) large collection of Jane Austen novels did not make it to the front of the shelves – though the Master was tempted, for a few moments, to put Jane Eyre near the front, partially because he knew (from the Doctor's monologues on the subject) that he was an Austen fan and _not_ a Brontë fan, and partially because he did consider Rochester's ability to hoodwink Jane into marrying him quite remarkable). Finally, he threw books about randomly for a few hours, creating a state of chaos in the library, and left things at that.

Falsehood: either of them actually cared about the state of the TARDIS's rooms.

Fact: the Master was much more proud than the Doctor was.

Fact: the Doctor was much more stubborn than the Master was.

Fact: it was the Doctor who broke first and went to talk to the Master.

They walked into each other in the hallway one day – quite literally, actually. It was a sharp corner, and both were hurrying around it: the Master at a swift walk, the Doctor at an all-out run. They both went crashing to the floor when they collided.

The Master got up first, and started to walk away, completely ignoring the Doctor, as if he hadn't just walked into the other Time Lord. The Doctor lay sprawled on the ground for another few minutes before something shattered in his expression and he called out, "Wait!"

The Master turned to look at the Doctor, and a smirk slid across his face. "Yes, Doctor?"

"You can't – I need to – we need to talk," the Doctor said, slowly standing up, bracing himself against one of the hallway's walls.

"Yeah?" The Master rocked back on his feet, leaning away from the Doctor. He folded his arms. "Go on."

"We can't – we can't. Go on like this, I mean. We can't continue like this." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "You kissed me."

"Never denied it," the Master said lightly.

"Why?" the Doctor asked.

"No reason," the Master replied. "I wanted to, so I did."

"Then I suppose –" The Doctor took a few tentative steps forward, stopped in front of the Master, and stared at him for a moment. Then he leaned forward and brushed his lips against the Master's, almost curiously, as if he wondered what it would be like.

The Master pulled back, startled, and pushed the Doctor away. "What are you – why did you –"

"I wanted to," the Doctor said, with a quick smile, almost as bright as some of his smiles of old, "so I did." He turned and walked away, leaving the Master staring into midair, completely bemused.

Fact: the Doctor's brief smile was the happiest the Master remembered ever seeing him.

Fact: the Master decided, after a short period of consideration, that he actually rather did like how the Doctor looked when he was beaming.

Fact: something intangible had changed aboard the TARDIS.

Falsehood: either the Master or the Doctor intended to do anything about it.


End file.
